The world was spinning slowly around him. Roderich could faintly feel the edges of the bathroom sink digging into his palms. It was the silence he could not stand, the silence that echoed between his shouts, weighing down on his heart. Elizabeta was gone, in the West. Why had he let her go without him? Why hadn't she come back yet?

You should get out of the city tonight.

Roderich felt suddenly cold. Gilbert Beilschmidt had somehow known about this, and out of some strange loyalty to Elizabeta, had warned him.

Roderich sunk down against the tiled wall of the bathroom. Everything had turned into a dull, pounding roar in his temples. Elizabeta and the barbed wire fence and Gilbert was all too much. He had to get back to Elizabeta, and if she was unable to come to him, he would cross the barbed wire to find her.

Collecting himself, Roderich began to look for his identification papers. All he would have to do would be to find the crossing point, and then Elizabeta would be there and they could return to Vienna. The guards would let him through once they found out that he wasn't even from here. This petty show between the Americans and Soviets would not affect him.

Reassured, Roderich set off. They'd visited the Brandenburg Gate before, and surely there would be some sort of official there that could sort out the finer points after war powers clashed again.

0o0o0o

The Brandenburg Gate bristled with East guards. Across the barbed wire, American soldiers paced among the mob, staring at the huddled people across from them. They kept back from the guns. Someone burst out of the crowd, a young man who stared, paralyzed in shock as one of the East soldiers turned their gun on him. One of the soldiers rushed forward and dragged him back. The message was clear to everyone. They will shoot.

Roderich strode forward, forcing his step not to falter. All eyes turned to him, piercing down, trying to figure out what he could be doing, walking up to the Wall like he was on a stroll. The air was silent save for a birdcall and a single, loud laugh.

Roderich's heart was loud in his ears, but he could not back down. He was safe. The Soviets wouldn't dare really shoot, so long as the Americans watched from across the square. All he needed to do was find someone high-ranking and tell them the situation. He would not back down so long as there was a chance of seeing Elizabeta again.

A man leaned against the closest building. His grey uniform was clean and pristine and neatly pressed with stars on the shoulders, but his gun was slung over his back. Cigarette smoke wafted from under his helmet as he watched the guards. With a surge of relief, Roderich started towards him.

Ten feet away, the man stilled and looked up, and Roderich froze. He knew those wolflike copper eyes and that pale skin. A bloody gash arched over his right eye.

'Gilbert?' he asked in astonishment, before correcting himself. 'Officer Beilschmidt? I need to get across to the West. I have papers.'

Gilbert's cigarette was burning down to his fingers, but he made no move to put it out. His eyes were wide.

'Get away from me,' he hissed. Roderich frowned. Did he not understand how important this was?

'I need to-'

'Pretty boy's back,' someone behind him growled, and Roderich flinched away from the heavy hand that landed on his shoulder. At the same moment, Gilbert stood up, his gun in his hands, looking deadly and wild.

'Hands off, Private.'

'What's he going to do about it? I heard he wanted to get across into the West. Maybe I'd be able to turn a blind eye for a bit. For a price.'

Roderich wanted to shove the man away, but forced himself calm and turned to face the soldiers. This could be a chance.

'I have money.'

'We want a bit more than that,' the man leered. Roderich opened his mouth to retort before he realized, and his stomach turned. These men couldn't really be saying-no, he wouldn't-

Gilbert calmly stepped between them, raised his gun, and flicked off the safety. Every movement was almost elegant. The two soldiers froze.

'Hands off,' Gilbert said lightly. 'Not surprised you're trying that, seeing as you couldn't bribe any girl enough to get in your bed, but I'm having a conversation here.'

'The Red Army's already had its fill of whichever girl it wanted in your city, Beilschmidt,' one of them spat. 'Maybe that's where your mother got you, because you sure don't look like your good little brother. Or maybe it's him that's the son of one of us? It's only been sixteen years, after all-'

The soldier's next words were choked off as Gilbert rammed the muzzle of his gun into his throat. With his blood and his bared teeth, he looked like some avenging angel.

'I said, I'm having a conversation,' Gilbert said again. Roderich could see the faint twitch of his mouth, the labour of his breathing. He'd been so close to all that coiled power yesterday that he could recognize all the tensions.

The soldiers backed away.

'You should be careful, Beilschmidt,' the first one warned, rubbing his neck.

'Back to your posts,' he said, before turning his back. The two stalked away.

Gilbert's coppery eyes held him in place. He slowly put the safety back on. Every movement held a released tension.

'My little brother is twenty,' he said casually, and his fingers dug hard into the grooves of his gun before he released. 'Not sixteen.'

Roderich felt sick with fear and relief. The world was swaying. Only Gilbert stayed steady. He just nodded.

'What happened to your eye?' he asked numbly. Why are you wearing their uniform? Why did you know this was going to happen?

Gilbert absentmindedly touched it. The blood spotted his fingers vibrantly. 'Bar fight. What were you saying?'

'I...need to get across.'

'Can't do it, sweetheart,' Gilbert said. 'Where's your wife?'

'Elizabeta is over there. I need to get to her. I have-have all the papers. I don't live here.'

'Do you think it matters to them?' Gilbert slung his gun back across his shoulders. 'We're all stuck here at the whim of the Soviets. Even after all those years of war with millions of people dead, we still act like we want to wipe our own existence off the face of the earth. Roderich Edelstein, do you really think humanity can stop tearing each other apart long enough to realize that?' He pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. 'You're in the East now. You live fast or not at all.'

'Which are you doing?'

Gilbert's mouth curled into a smile around the ember. 'Neither. I'm a dead man walking.'

The papers felt heavy in his pocket. Gilbert was watching, body loose but alert, cocking his head like the crows that perched nearby.

'You shouldn't have come to talk to me,' he whispered. 'Not while I'm in uniform. Don't come by again.'

'Wait! Wait, you can't just-if you can't help me get across, who can?'

'Nobody, sweetheart.' Gilbert shrugged, watching the West crowd again. 'The Berlin Wall is up. Nobody can leave.'

'But I need Elizabeta,' he said, knowing his voice sounded small. Gilbert's eyes locked on his again, measuring.

'We all think we need things. If you try to cross, they'll shoot you. If you keep strutting around like some high-class noble, you'll end up dead anyways. I can't help you get into the West. But Eliza's my friend, and I'm the only hope you have, so if you meet me in the Roman tonight, I'll help you survive here.' He straightened, gazing out at the rest of the guards. 'Now get out and never approach the Wall again. I don't want to see you dead.'

Roderich held his tongue. If Gilbert Beilschmidt was his only hope, he'd fallen far from concert halls and expert sonatas.

0o0o0o

Gilbert hadn't given him a time, so Roderich arrived early and sat in the corner. There was no strum of a guitar this time, and the jukebox was off. Roderich had liked the music. It was simple, but it had reminded him of better days, back in Vienna. He closed his eyes and imagined it, letting the simple chords take him somewhere far away. Maybe when he opened his eyes, the morning would have all been a bad dream, and Gilbert only a figment of his imagination.

'What are you dreaming about, princess?'

Roderich's eyes snapped open. Gilbert grinned up over his glass. He'd bandaged his cut. 'Don't tell me you're one of those idealists. It'll be hard enough to take care of you as is.'

'Why are you a Wall guard?' Roderich asked bluntly. Gilbert raised an eyebrow, fire flaring dangerously in his eyes. Despite himself, Roderich looked away first.

'Don't tell people that. They'll hate you more if they know you're consorting with my sort. I would.'

'Then why are you?' Roderich pressed. Gilbert didn't say anything for a long moment.

'I became a soldier for their army because I had to,' he said measuredly. 'You've never had to worry about anyone but yourself, but I had a little brother. If joining the Red Army meant he stayed safe and fed, I would do it.'

Heavy, hot shame rose in his chest. Berlin was the city of people like Gilbert, who was so much raw power and doing what they had to in order to survive.

'I'm sorry,' he said. Gilbert just shook his head.

'It's what I had to do.' A half-smile was still flickering around his mouth. 'Why are you here?' he asked.

'What?'

'A musician like you. Shouldn't you have run to the far side of the city?' His eyes flashed in the lamplight and his voice dropped. 'I told you to leave. Why didn't you?'

'Why should I have believed you?' Roderich retorted. 'I don't belong here. I was intending to leave today, but...Elizabeta.'

'Did she believe me?' Gilbert asked. Roderich noticed how he gripped the glass and his eyes turned bright. 'She's safe in the West and not-not caught by anyone?'

'She's safe.'

Gilbert took a long, shuddering breath. 'Thank God.'

Rage suddenly burst in his chest, and Roderich stood up. 'You knew! And you let this happen to everyone?'

'What do you think I tried to do?' Gilbert snarled, standing up across from him. 'You didn't believe me. Elizabeta and Francis are only in the West by accident. Antonio hates me now, and he's still here. My brother...' His jaw trembled. 'He's safe, that's all that matters. I told everyone and I saved three people, Roderich. At least I fucking tried.'

They stand there, glaring each other down before Roderich abruptly sits down.

'I don't want you to help me,' he said, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. Gilbert laughed.

'Too late, sweetheart. I talked some bullshit about keeping out of your life if you didn't want me, but it's too late. I might hate you, but your fiancé's my friend. I'm keeping you safe for her.' He slid a scrap of paper with a few lines of scribbling writing across the table. 'Here. These people don't like the Soviets. If you go to them, they might be able to help. I can't go, because they hate me now.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm a Wall guard,' Gilbert said. 'Don't tell them you know me. And the address below that is my place. It's only for emergencies.'

'What qualifies as an emergency?'

'You're being actively targeted by the Stasi, say, or the Americans bring in tanks and start another war,' Gilbert said, sounding abnormally cheerful. 'Tell me if it's the latter. I still have Toni's old shitty camera, and I'll get pictures.'

'You act like this is all a joke,' Roderich said. He knew his voice trembled. Gilbert smiled.

'Look at us, sweetheart. You're a musician from the better side and I'm guarding the Wall. The only thing fate has for us is a tragedy.' He finished his drink and stood up, offering his hand in mock chivalry. 'Ready to go, princess?'

Frustrated, Roderich stood up, ignoring his hand. Gilbert laughed and followed him out.

The cold air was better on his face, and Roderich lingered a moment. Gilbert touched his shoulder.

'Listen to me. I know you hate this, but you're smart enough to realize that I'm a better chance of staying alive. How about we make a deal? You keep your nose out of trouble and you won't have to see me ever again.'

'Deal,' Roderich said stiffly. Gilbert laughed.

'You're a long way from home, aren't you? Where's your nest?'

'Vienna.'

'Thought so.' Gilbert whistled as they walked. Roderich lost himself in the strangely melodic sound for a moment.

He wanted to tell Gilbert to leave, but there was safety in standing next to this pale soldier tonight. They would reach his flat and part ways, never to meet again.

The thought gave him pause, though he wasn't sure why. Gilbert cut a dramatic figure in the moonlight, brightening his skin silver. He glanced over, his eyes flashing in the moonlight as his song faded.

'You're a musician, right?' he asked. Roderich nodded again. Gilbert paused and began to sing, softly, with a voice that was rough and breaking around the edges, but lovely. It was half wartime croon and half birdcall, it seemed, notes swooping up into the moonlight like nightjars.

Roderich said nothing until he was finished, and they stood outside his flat. Gilbert stayed staring up at the sky, face turned towards the West with a longing expression.

'Imagine how we might have met without the Wall,' he said. 'You'd have still hated me.'

'Elizabeta would still be here.'

'We can only dream.'

The haunting strains of the song still drifted through Roderich's mind. 'What was that you were singing? It was rather...beautiful.'

'I learned it from my mother. We used to sing it to my baby brother. Back when we were younger. During the war.' Gilbert shrugged, every movement loose. 'He's older now, and an officer. I haven't sung to anyone for years.'

'You said he was in the West?'

Gilbert leaned back against the wall, shoulders curling over. 'Yeah.' His tone made it obvious that he wouldn't talk, and even subdued, Gilbert Beilschmidt was a hurricane force.

Gilbert turned and touched him, calloused fingertips at his cheek. Roderich's breath caught, and he could hear his heart.

'You know, they say the only things that survive in this city are art and history.' He looked him over, red eyes faintly amused and gleaming. Roderich knew what he looked like, clutching his fine coat, clothes far too obviously rich in this dingy backstreet. Faced with this ghost of the city of wartime, scarred and pale and dangerous, he was vulnerable-and yet here was his knight's favour in Roderich's hand.

Gilbert gave him one more gift-a smile. Roderich shivered in something not quite fear.

'We'll have a good time.'